Diamond Joe
by LaurieQ
Summary: It should be Valentine's with Vanessa, but instead Joe's out of town on a case. Still, there's romance in the air - geriatric unwanted romance, that is. A most silly case tale, with a little bit of thought in there somewhere. Lighter reading than Coming of Age, and less thoughtful than Safe Haven, because some days are just goofier than others.
1. Chapter 1

Diamond Joe

Author's Note: This story is set after Speak Now Or Forever Hold Your Peace, which will be posting on FFN later this summer. You don't need to know my other stories for this one to make sense, I just thought something a bit lighter might be a nice counterpoint to Coming of Age and it's sequel, Charades. If you like a bit of silliness, this may be more to your taste. Besides, somewhere in between the very dramatic cases, there has to be some work-a-day stuff too, right? Well, at least as work-a-day as Frank and Joe's life gets. This is only a few chapters, hope you enjoy.

Chapter 1

"This is entirely your fault, you know." The twenty-something blonde glared at his nemesis, an index finger jabbing the recycled hotel air in emphasis. "Every bit of it."

Receiving no reply, he resumed fumbling with his monogramed cufflinks, the stylized 'JH' now somehow upside down. "You know what? Who cares! I like them this way. Yep, definitely. Like anyone can read tiny engraving on my wrist from any respectable distance anyway… and believe me this is one date that is _not_ getting any closer than that. Not happening. I hope."

The silk cummerbund staged its own resistance, but soon enough succumbed to the rough manhandling of its owner.

"Ha! Gotcha. What are these goofy things for, anyhow? Great now I'm not only talking to myself, I'm asking questions, too. I liked it better when I was talking to you."

His sea blue gaze returned to the corner of the room, but he didn't get a response this time either. Of course that may have been because his conversational companion was three inches tall and entirely coated in red glitter. Not to mention made of plastic.

"And this is still one hundred percent your fault. Well, maybe ninety nine percent. It's one percent Frank's fault for convincing me to go out of town right before Valentine's day, otherwise I wouldn't be in a hurry to get home… and maybe, only maybe mind you, it's one percent Vanessa's fault for flashing that playful come hither grin when I promised a special Valentine's day…. And I guess it's two percent the case's fault if you figure one percent for there even being a case and another one for Dad agreeing to it…. So, it's only ninety six percent your fault, then... but I still hate you, in case you're wondering …"

The young man sank onto the edge of the oversized bed, embroidered slate and platinum duvet curling around tuxedo clad legs. He balanced one foot on the opposite knee, sliding on black-on-black patterned socks before scooping an Italian leather dress shoe off the thick pewter carpeting. Frowning, he peered into the unexpectedly firm shoe.

"Now what?" The polished walnut shoe tree within refused to budge, wedged tight beneath the tongue. Jamming his fingers in between the sleek wood and the inside of the heel, he finally pried the thing out, huffing a little when it plopped onto the floor. "Who knew these could get stuck in a shoe? Actually who knew they still put these in shoes after say nineteen forty four… heck, maybe eighteen forty four... Whatever… I'm going to be late…"

He crossed the room to an oversized ornate mirror, sliding his jacket onto broad shoulders on the way. He paused long enough to straighten pale grey silk, grudgingly thankful he'd finally mastered the art of tying a bowtie, ran his fingers through perennially unruly blonde waves, and pocketed his keys. The tiny glittery cherub stared back at him from below philodendron leaves that were overrunning an exquisite obsidian planter. A sophisticated if unwanted gift from his date.

"Nah, I'm going back to this being completely your fault. You're Cupid, right? So, no Cupid, no Valentine's day… no love… no Vanessa waiting on me to celebrate Valentine's day… no obsession with diamonds for Valentine's day… no diamond theft spike this month… no stupid out of town case to find said diamonds… no weird old lady dates… no uncomfortable monkey suit… no stuck shoe trees… and definitely no talking to yourself and a miniature Valentino in a potted plant! All. Your. Fault!" The young man sighed, deflating from his conjecture. "Ok, sparkle-boy, let's get this over with. Where are those little arrows you're supposed to have…? At least I could fend her off with one of those…maybe… if I got an eye… crap, still talking to myself…"

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"Joe? Joe Hardy? Is that you?"

Joe froze, plastering on a vacant smile before turning around. The helium balloon meets Minnie Mouse voice was gratingly familiar from college, and he couldn't say that he'd missed it in the interim. "Miranda Carnes! How wonderful to see you again!"

The tiny redhead latched on to his arm, practically purring. "It's wonderful to see you, too, Joe! It's been what, a year? You look great."

"So do you." That much was true at least, what little there was of the skin tight ruby toned dress didn't make discerning that too much of a challenge. "And a year sounds about right."

"Well, it's too long whatever it is. What on earth are you doing here? I thought you were still up in New York working with your dad and Frank." She glanced around, trying to spot the other half of the renowned detective sibling pair.

Joe mentally sifted his options and decided the truth was not one of them. Miranda wouldn't be able to grasp that he was working and not give him away, even if she wanted to. There was a reason she'd majored more in husband catching 101 than whatever degree program she officially signed on for. Time to lie through his teeth, one air head to another. Joe's surprisingly good grades were the one aspect of his existence she'd never noticed.

"Nah. I tried that for a while, but it was the same thing all the time, you know? My dad, he's suuuuch a drag! He wanted us to work like constantly and I just wanted to have some time to kick up my heels a bit. School took enough work; I didn't need him on my case all the time after that, like you know? I'm sort of drifting about right now, seeing the south…"

Her smile widened, uncomfortably predatory. "I always knew you were more fun than that workaholic brother of yours. We could get out of here for a few hours, maybe?"

The returning grin took effort. "Wow, I wish. I came with someone, unfortunately. Maybe another time?"

"Came with someone?" The grey eyes narrowed, scanning the room. "You aren't still seeing that same Amazon chick are you? You don't need tied down like that, Joe, not if you want to have fun like you say…"

"Vanessa Bender?" Joe snorted. "Of course not. But I do have a date tonight."

"Hmm. Who?"

Joe gestured toward an older lady at the center of the art deco ballroom. The silver ball-gowned figure was raising an eyebrow at him, one thinly plucked arch approaching her overly bouffant bluish hair. He reinforced his smile and held up his drink, indicating he'd been to the bar. Not for the first time.

"Millie Fields?! Really?" Miranda's voice amazingly climbed another octave. "She has to be three hundred years old!"

Joe chuckled, a false sound Miranda entirely missed. "Not three hundred, only seventy two. And she's not that bad."

"What are you talking about? She's ancient, crinkled, and she looks like a walking skeleton wrapped up in two thousand layers of fish net tulle. I don't get it, Joe. At least Vanessa was sort of pretty! Millicent is, well, I don't know what she is except old and…" Miranda stopped abruptly, a malicious smirk overtaking any pretense at pleasantness on her face. "Oh. Oh! She's old and rich. Very rich. Verging on obscenely rich. Why Joe Hardy, you naughty, naughty boy!"

Joe matched her features. "You caught me. Touring the country takes funds, and Dad cut me off. I better get back."

A throaty laugh followed. "You do that." Miranda slipped a piece of paper into his hand. "And if you get a chance to sneak out of her bed later, half of mine is available. For tonight, at least."

Joe raised the scotch he was holding to his lips, faking a sip. "I'll keep that in mind."

#####

#####

By midnight, Joe had danced his way through Atlanta's social elite, returning to Millicent's side often enough to keep the matriarch amused. Seven extraordinary glasses of scotch had found their way in to various potted plants and he'd picked up a number of gossipy tidbits about the diamond robberies that had plagued the city in recent weeks. All of the stones were taken from private collections, most while in their owner's homes and a few from a display loaned to a museum. Fortunately he hadn't run into anyone else he knew.

Not that he was undercover; per se. Everyone at the party knew he was Joseph Hardy, son of the famous detective. They just thought he was Joseph Hardy, lazy, no account son of the famous detective who would rather escort rich little old ladies than work for a living. Amazing how a few brainless comments combined with a handsome athlete's build could foster that impression so easily. Under most circumstances it was profoundly annoying, but tonight it worked to his advantage. Even the people there who knew something of his past track record for solving mysteries were quickly steered into thinking it was all Frank's work on the intelligence end. With the brunette elder sibling nowhere to be seen, they didn't guard their tongues at all.

"I think the evening is winding down, my dear." Millie's hand on his shoulder brought Joe back to the present.

Joe nodded, absently tallying the thinning crowd. "I think you're right. The band's still playing, though. One more dance?"

"Of course." Millie allowed Joe to lead her back to the dance floor, her hand tightening on the back of his shoulder in a proprietary fashion. Half way through the waltz she was plastered against his well-muscled torso, leaving little doubt as to her plans for the rest of the evening.

Joe had plans, too. Just not the same ones. He extricated himself from her grasp, playfully swatting at her hand when it drifted lower than he had in mind. "Ah, not here, love, ok? Let's grab another drink before the bar shuts down."

Millie laughed, slightly tipsy already. "Another one couldn't hurt, I guess. Something frozen and sweet… I know, a bocce ball."

Images of balls rolling on the sand around Barmet Bay flitted through his brain. "Um, not sure I know that one."

"Oh, it's amaretto, orange juice, sherbet, and club soda. Don't worry, love, darling Wade over there is the absolute master at concoctions. He'll fix me right up."

Joe nodded, thinking that sounded more like a desert than a drink, but more than willing to fetch anything that put Millicent one step closer to being asleep for the night. He'd been warned she could drink him under the table and likely through half the floor, and that might well have been the case… if he'd been drinking instead of watering the greenery. He really couldn't afford to be drunk right now.

Sadly when he returned Millicent was at the center of a trio of ladies, all about her age, and a thirtyish brunette whose main assets were quite clear in tuxedo pants two sizes too tight.

"Millie!" Who is this delicious thing? Do tell!" A tall woman in a red sequined sheath reached out for Joe, trailing a finger down his cheek before tipping his chin to the left for a better look. "And those eyes… You have to tell me where you found this one, Mil."

"I know, he's gorgeous, isn't he?" The sly giggle that came out of Millicent was anything but age appropriate. "This is Joe. But as to where I found him, well… you'll have to find your own!"

All the women laughed at that, the oldest of the group hooking a finger in a belt loop of the dark haired man. "I already did. And with that in mind, good night, ladies."

"Good night, Fran. Do try to fit at least a little sleep in before tennis tomorrow."

"Now why on earth would I want to do that?" Fran and her companion disappeared in the general direction of the hotel elevator.

"They have the right idea, don't you think?" Millicent leaned in closer to Joe, the hand she had around his waist somehow wandering into the edge of his front pocket. "We could be upstairs in your room in three minutes.

Joe flinched but covered it with a miniscule cough and a broad smile, sidestepping enough to dislodge her hand. "As wonderful as that sounds, my room's a wreck. Maybe your place?"

"Bachelor housekeeping, I suppose, but really Joe, you've only been in town what, four days? How bad could it be? But certainly, my place is fine. If you'll excuse us; Carmen, Sara; goodnight. Joe, be a dear and send for the car."

#####

#####

Joe held his breath, listening. There the sound was again. A very faint snore. Thank God.

He'd spent the last hour playing catch me if you can in the master suite of the Fields' estate, dodging Millie's surprisingly fast advances. The car ride had been horrendous, and his insistence that he'd seldom had so talented a dance partner on their arrival at the house hadn't helped much. She'd agreed to dance with him again easily enough, but he couldn't recall any dancing lesson that included pinching your companion, nor dropping your gown to the floor. Thank goodness there was enough spandex wear under that dress to shield Joe from viewing anything that might permanently sear his eyeballs. Still, he was convinced he'd have a blue spot or two on his rear…

The last fifteen minutes they'd been 'cuddling', and listening to big band swing, which Joe suspected Millie saw as a prelude to moving over the king sized bed. Joe, however, saw it as an opportunity to stall her into falling asleep before any such atrocity could occur. Confident she was finally sleeping, he slid across the leather sofa, careful not to disturb her. Standing, he cracked his back and began re-buttoning the top of his shirt. When had she managed that?!

He crept through the room, now gloved fingers rapidly trailing along picture frames and behind bookshelves in the adjoining study, sorting through the closet and finally riffling the paperwork of the previously locked desk. People really should invest in better locks. Twenty minutes later in the back of the study closet, he decided people should buy better safes, too. Millie's had taken less than three minutes to crack, and that was without proper tools.

He quickly photographed emerald earrings, a diamond and ruby pendant, loose diamonds in a tray, and four diamond rings of various configurations, but the stone he was searching for just wasn't there. Crud. He'd been so certain….

He crept into the hallway and out of the house before retrieving a disposable phone.

"Nothing definite. I need a ride back to the hotel."

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to be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note - Thank you to Cherylann, Paulina, Max2013, and EvergreenDreamweaver for the kind reviews on the start of this tale. Although this is set several years forward from the other stories I'm posting now, I thought I could use a few chapter breather.

Chapter 2

"Gah – You reek!"

Joe slammed the passenger door of the rental sedan as he swung in, scowling. "I love you, too, Frank."

"Yeah, great… just love me from as far over on your half as you can." The elder of the siblings cracked the window on his side, grateful for the biting night air. "What is that, anyway? Lavender water, eau du cigar, daiquiris, and, uh, ben gay?"

Joe couldn't stifle a grunt. "Probably. With a little cold cream and talcum powder thrown in."

"Tell me you didn't …"

"What? Of course not!" Joe scrunched down in the vinyl seat, leaning his head against the upholstered door. "But it got a little closer than I cared for."

A loud laugh shook the car as Frank pulled into the sparse three AM traffic. "Ah, little brother. At least tell me you weren't the one drinking the daiquiris."

"I think they were margaritas and something called a bocce ball, actually. And no, I didn't drink them, or anything else for that matter, I'm working. Although I may have left some very tipsy potted plants digesting some exorbitantly expensive scotch."

"Glad to know you didn't turn into a lush just because you smell like one. Course you also smell like a…"

"If you're interested in ever seeing another sunrise, do not finish that thought." Joe closed his eyes, blocking out the prolonged evening. "Can we just head back to the hotel already?"

"Going as fast as I can get by with now, unless you really want to get pulled over and explain to some nice officer why you smell like you slept with his grandmother…"

"I did not sleep with Millicent Fields."

The blunt delivery caught Frank off guard. "Hey, I was kidding, Joe, you know that."

Joe didn't budge, but a slight frown suggested he was still listening.

"Joe?"

A long sigh followed. "Sorry. It's the middle of the night, I'm exhausted, I've been playing tonsil hockey with the queen of the cougars, and I didn't find what I was after… God, I miss Vanessa."

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The next morning found the younger of the detectives in a posh downtown high rise, looking out over the frosty city. He'd settled into the left of a pair of deep cordovan leather wingback chairs, waiting with all the patience he could muster. Which unfortunately wasn't a lot.

Perusing the oversize desk in front of him provided meager entertainment. A gold-gilt frame encased a portrait of a gray-haired gentleman standing on the front steps of the building with a massive black dog, a magnetic cluster of paperclips on a star shaped base formed a disjointed miniature sculpture, and a leather edged desk calendar covered a sizable portion of the wood surface but had only a single note written on it for a date four days past. 'Milo's four o'clock.' That seemed potentially interesting until a quick phone search identified Milo's as a local dog groomer.

He prodded at the paperclips, achieving a more precarious but taller tower and turned his attention to the remaining desk toy. The seven polished silver balls hung neatly in a horizontal row, waiting for someone to set their predictable clacking in motion. The name of the item escaped him, but Joe had certainly played with these on at least six dozen other desks, including his father's. The only thing unique about this set was their unusual diameter, the typical marble sized spheres replaced with something more akin to golf balls. Shrugging, he pulled the end one to the left as far as he could and let it go.

The resulting clang was much louder than he expected. Joe grabbed at the moving balls, intent on stopping the racket. Probably would have been more successful had he not managed to smash his fingernail between them, eliciting a sharp yelp.

"Oww, ow, ow, ow." Joe stood up to pace, left hand wrapped around his right index finger. "Ow. Good grief, it's a fingernail, not an amputation. Why is it so touchy?"

A faint knock gave him a second's warning before the door opened.

"Did you need something, Mr. Hardy? I thought I heard talking?" The young secretary from the outer office stepped in, tugging slightly at the hem of her sunny yellow peasant blouse. It flowed over a full skirt that seemed to be composed of calico patchwork, resembling an antique quilt more than anything else. Red boots peeked from underneath and a somewhat floppy denim hat topped off the ensemble over a long brown braid, tiny silk sunflowers woven both through the plait and around the brim of the hat. She matched the sleek modern office about as well as aardvark in a tutu would have.

Consciously returning his hands to his sides, Joe shook his head. "No, I'm fine. Thank you."

"I was sure I heard… oh, look at that! What did you do to your hand? Oooh, goodness… I can get ice…"

Joe gave a startled glance at his finger, surprised there was anything to see. His fingernail did have a darkening arc across it, and the tip of the finger was reddened, but for no more than inch at the most. It certainly wasn't impressive, or even noticeable for most people.

"No. No thank you. It's fine. Really." He would prefer to look more composed whenever his client finally arrived. The message summoning him here hadn't been polite.

"Hot tea, then. That helps everything." She was out the door, mumbling under her breath faster than he could decline.

Quickly setting the desk items to order, Joe took a deep breath, wondering about the oddly dressed assistant . Everything here screamed corporate except for her. A family member that didn't have to adhere to the rules, or a temp staff, perhaps? Curious.

Maybe the tea would actually be of some use. The headache he'd been nursing all morning appeared to be picking up steam. He leaned his head backward, closing his eyes.

Flower child, inc. chose that moment to reappear behind him, reaching an old-fashioned china cup and saucer across his shoulder just in time for him to raise his head and send it flying. Hot tea splattered across the desk blotter and the lower half of Joe's shirt and tie.

"OOH! I am so sorry! Oh dear. Sorry! Sorry!" Her apology was accompanied by fluttery hands swatting at the tea droplets remaining on the shirt and rapidly heading southward into his lap.

Joe stood, the tip of his finger no longer the only thing that was flushed red, catching her wrists. "I'm fine. Stop, it's fine. Stop! I'll get it."

She froze, realizing exactly where her hands were, suddenly as red as Joe. "Ahem. I'll, ah, get a towel."

"Fine. Thank you." He stood a little straighter. "Actually, if you could point me toward the restroom?"

"Oh. Of course. Second door on the left side of the hall."

#####

Joe made an escape, hoping his late meeting partner would find it in his heart to be a little later. He stopped in front of the mirror, leaning on the polished stone counter. The tie was a complete loss. He untied it and laid it on the granite, surveying his shirt. Fortunately, his jacket had been open and was mostly spared. If he could get a few of the higher spots dried out of the shirt, then button the sport coat over the rest, it might not look too bad. As long as he could sit down and hide his pants, anyway. He had spare clothes in the car, but wasn't sure if he had time to get them. Sighing, he took off the shirt, figuring he'd make the best of spot cleaning it here.

"Mr. Hardy? I thought you might want to…" A denim and calico blur spun into the bathroom, waving a white shirt and then coming to an abrupt halt.

"OH! Sorry again! I didn't realize you were, ah.."

Joe counted to five in his head. _I will not be angry with Mary Poppins. I will not be angry with Mary Poppins…. "_ Well, this is the men's room. I wasn't expecting you." As calmly as possible he rezipped his pants and reached for his belt, discarding the handful of paper towels he'd been blotting along his waistband. His shirt, unfortunately, was well out of reach.

"Umm."

"The shirt." Joe pointed at the item in question. "Is that for me?"

"Um, yes. Some of the junior staffers keep spares here. I think this one will fit you."

"Thanks." Joe waited, but she didn't budge. "I can take it from here all by myself."

His hapless helper blushed even more. "Right. Excuse me."

####

Ten minutes later he was back in the elegant office, a borrowed manila folder carefully arranged in his lap. He certainly didn't feel composed, but he could fake it. Princess sunshine miraculously was nowhere to be seen, and she'd somehow managed to remove the shattered cup and ruined calendar in the interim.

"I have to say I'm disappointed, Mr. Hardy." The gentleman from the photograph strode into the room, shaking his head, having kept Joe waiting well over an hour.

The young detective shifted in his seat, stifling a frustrated groan. How can you possibly have the post party hangover without any of the night before drinking? Apparently, the horde of monkeys drumming inside his skull didn't understand the necessary connection.

"As am I, but the stone simply wasn't there. Given the other jewelry I found, Millicent Fields has some connection to these robberies, but your diamond remains missing."

"Remains missing is not a phrase I especially want to hear from someone I hired to retrieve my property." The older man in the room leaned against the ostentatious carved desk, tightly crossed arms wrinkling a tailored grey suit that probably cost more than the rental car Joe drove over.

"And I can appreciate that, Mr. Causman. However, this investigation isn't closed and I'm not saying it's a lost cause. This is a status update, nothing more."

"Very well. Perhaps you'll have more useful information tomorrow." Edwin Hubert Causman the Fourth opened the door to his thirtieth-floor corner office, effectively concluding the meeting. "I'll expect you at four."

"I look forward to it." Joe rose gracefully from his chair, shaking the offered hand and conjuring a confident smile. No sense in broadcasting that he thought his employer was a grade A jerk.

#####

"You going to eat that?" Joe raised his fork, vaguely jabbing toward a cup of pasta salad Frank had banished to the edge of his plate.

"No, go ahead." Frank grinned. "Assuming you still eat anything as plebian as pasta salad."

"I might be able to make due if they're out of caviar – and hey, I just finished off three chili dogs. I am not hung up on fussy highbrow food, no matter how many diamond draped blue hairs I have to wine and dine for this case." Joe shoveled an enormous bite in, barely swallowing before starting to talk again. "Although you could stand to eat a little more, Frank."

"Crud, Joe, you sound like Mom. She's been trying to stuff me since I got home." Frank's smile faded and he made a reluctant search through the bread basket, selecting the smallest slice. He'd been on a solo assignment for weeks and lately he'd been living mainly on coffee. "So, I lost a pound or two. So what?"

Joe plucked a much larger piece of the still warm sour dough and smeared it with butter before shoving it toward his sibling. "Can't keep trading coffee for food. Eat."

"How'd you know I..." Frank broke his sentence off, reluctantly grabbing the bread. "Fine. You're annoying, you know that, right?"

"Of course. It's my job."

"Terrific. What happened to your shirt? That's not the one you left the hotel in."

"Yeah, about that…"

#####

"Did you know the Star of India is 563 carats?"

Frank rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, groaning. "No. Did you know that it's four seventeen AM?

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. I did." Joe shuffled another piece of paper on the stunted hotel table before squinting at his laptop. The glowing screen provided the only light in the room aside from the partially obscured red numbers emanating from the nightstand. Frank formed a rather amorphous lump in the queen size bed between Joe's chair and the clock.

A lump that had already rolled over, back now to his sibling, the thick comforter yanked over his head.

"It's a sapphire, though. Now the Centenary Diamond is 273.85 carats and flawless… reportedly insured for a hundred million dollars, too. Nobody knows where it is at the moment. It's South African in origin and was on display at the Tower of London for a decade, but it was sold… probably to a collector but DeBeers won't confirm that. The Great Chrysanthemum Diamond is a brown pear shaped modified brilliant cut that measures 104.15 carats in size. Huh, didn't know diamonds came in brown."

"Do I _have_ to care about that right now?"

"Uh, not really but um, grouchy much?" Joe shook his head, aware Frank probably couldn't see it in the dark.

Frank propped up on an elbow, exasperated. "I'm not grouchy. It's four twenty three in the morning, an hour that I got to enjoy with you yesterday too, I might add, and you're talking. Out loud. In my room."

"Sorry. Something's nagging that's all. Go back to sleep."

"Um hmm, already doing that…" The brunette's words trailed off into a drowsy slur as he flopped back down, tugging the pillow over his head this time too.

 _The Golden Maharaja has an unknown past… The gem made its first modern appearance in 1937 at the Paris World Fair. It was on exhibit at the Museum from 1975 to 1990 when it was sold for 1.3 million_ …

 _The Idol's Eye diamond origin is something of a mystery. Many claim it was the eye of an idol or statue from a temple in Benghazi. The diamond was purchased by a Spanish Nobleman who kept it in London. The gemstone remained hidden until after World War II when a Dutch Merchant acquired it and sold it to Harry Winston… resold several times…The Idol's Eye diamond is a triangular old mine cut measuring 70. 21 carats and has a slight bluish color…_

 _The Heart of Eternity diamond is one of the most famous fancy blue diamonds. It came from the premier mine in South Africa which has the largest production of fancy colored diamonds… of the ten highest priced diamond sales, six of them were blue. The Heart of Eternity is the sister stone of the Millennium Star which were both cut from the same stone… The gem is 27.64 carats and is classified as fancy vivid blue._

 _The Orlov diamond is another old diamond with an exact history that is somewhat sketchy. The diamond was said to be one of the eyes of a religious statue of Lord Ranganatha in the Temple of Srirangam. A deserter from the French army purportedly converted to Hinduism and eventually secured enough trust to be allowed to worship the statue. One night he pried one of the diamond eyes from the statue and escaped with it. The stone made its way to England and after several sales ended up in the possession of Count Grigory Grigorievich Orlov. The count wanted the stone to curry the favor of an old love… who went on to become Catherine the Great of Russia and named the stone after him and had it set into the Imperial Sceptre. The Orlov Diamond measures 189.62 carats._

Joe's eyes blurred slightly as he scanned lines of text on the screen, not sure what he was looking for, but convinced there was something to find. "Somehow there's something here instead of in the case notes. Just not sure what…"

"Joe." Somehow his name came out as a growl. "You have a room of your very own. One floor down from here. Just one. I can draw you a map if you like. Maybe call the concierge to guide you there."

"Oops. You awake again, Frank?"

"Arghh." The elder Hardy rolled toward him with an audible thunk. "Whatever gave you that idea? Forget the map. Your room's under this one. I can just throw you out the window."

"Geeze. I'm just reading." Joe shoved the laptop aside, keeping it open to cast a dim light on the file folder he selected.

 _The Regent Diamond… according to legend it was discovered by a slave in a diamond mine in 1692 in India. The slave was killed on a ship and the captain took the diamond. It was sold to Thomas Pitt, a well-known merchant trader in India. He finally managed to sell it to Philippe II, Duke of Orleans in 1717. It was set in a Crown for the Coronation of Louis XV and then in another crown for Louis XVI in 1775. He gave it to Marie Antoinette who added it to her jewelry collection. It then found its way into the hands of Napoleon Bonaparte in 1801. It was set into his sword until his death when it was sent to Austria. It was eventually returned to France and was set into the crowns of Louis XVIII, Charles X and Napoleon III. It was then set in a Greek style Diadem crown for Empress Eugenie where it remains today, and is displayed in the Louvre Museum. The diamond measures 140.6 carats and is a cushion style cut. It is white with a slight blue tint in color…_

A slave on a ship? Wait…wait, wait, wait, no that's not… right… or…

"Frank?"

"Kill me now."

"Frank? You awake?"

"For the love of God, Joe, yes, I'm awake. Not by choice."

Joe glanced at the clock. Five forty three. "Sorry. You're usually up by six, anyway, though. I'm the one that ought to be whining about the hour…" Joe included a hint of contrition, a hint of humor…

…And it worked. Exhaling a resigned breath, Frank sat up again, flipping on the light and reaching for the pants draped across the foot of the bed. "Whatcha got?"

"Not enough, yet, but in ten hours I'm going to need a plan for telling our high society client that I won't be locating his diamond."

It wasn't like Joe to give up on a case, particularly without a very compelling reason. "Why not?"

"Because it doesn't exist."

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to be continued...


	3. Chapter 3

Diamond Joe

Chapter 3

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#

Joe shuffled through the papers he'd discarded on the floor, emerging with a bright blue highlighter pen. Grabbing his case notes, he quickly highlighted several lines and compared them with the articles on his laptop. A number of key phrases proved identical. Motioning Frank over, he tapped the screen with one hand and the notes with the other. "Read this. The whole description is cobbled together from snippets about the other diamonds. I don't think the Milan Diamond exists."

Frank accepted the case folder, skimming the two paragraph description of the gemstone at the center of their search aloud. "The Milan Diamond is a 74 carat pale blue diamond which originally served as the eye of a statue in a Benghazi Temple and was eventually bought by a Spanish nobleman. Somehow it ended up in the hands of a slave during transport aboard a ship. The slave was killed for the stone which was then stolen by the captain. Through a lengthy series of transfers, the diamond ultimately ended up with Catherine the Great as part of the Russian Imperial jewels. It was first displayed to the public at the 1937 world's fair in Paris. The current location of the jewel is unknown, but it is suspected to have been sold to a private collector. Yeah, Causman."

The brunette shook his head, comparing the lines again to the computer information on historically famous stones. "It's definitely a concocted description. Why would Mr. Causman falsify the description of his property, though?"

"I don't think that's exactly what he did," Joe replied.

"What do you mean?"

"He didn't falsify the description, he falsified the diamond. I don't think the stone exists at all."

Frank raised an eyebrow. "Insurance fraud."

Joe nodded. "Yep."

#####

Six hours, five sandwiches, four eaten by Joe, and two pots of coffee later, the sleuths had almost pieced it together. The rash of diamond robberies was real enough, and Millicent Fields was certainly a major player in the heists. Frank suspected another night's stakeout would be enough to figure out who was committing the actual robberies after Millicent identified the jewelry available at various society gatherings. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case they'd been hired to solve. Or more technically, that Joe had been hired to solve. Frank was officially on vacation from his own case overseas for two weeks. Then again, when had vacation ever not equaled 'in a case up to your eyeballs' for either of them?

The brothers had spent the day digging through Edwin Causman's financial statements for the last twenty years. It seemed Mr. Causman was in the habit of losing some very expensive items in well-publicized robbery sprees. Oddly, none of the insurance agents or acquaintances of Mr. Causman could definitively recall seeing any of the items in question before their unfortunate disappearance. There were photographs and appraisals, of course, but those all seemed to originate from a common source. A common source that turned out how to have enough organized crime ties to qualify as an honorary cast member of the Godfather.

Joe shoved his half of the mound of documents away from him, simultaneously stretching toward the ceiling and popping the bones of his spine. It felt divine after hunching for hours, partially because he was stiff and partially because the snap, crackle, pop festival never failed to thoroughly annoy Frank. "The only real question now, is why he hired a detective to find something that was never lost in the first place. Our fee cuts into the scammed insurance payout."

The elder Hardy rose to pace, as cramped in the small hotel room as his sibling. "My guess is that the insurance company became suspicious. The reimbursement for his stolen Duesenberg Model J was only two years ago."

A low whistle escaped Joe. "I can see where that would catch your attention. One sold at auction recently for a million seven. Having us investigate the diamond theft does lend a legitimacy to the proceedings, even if we don't find it."

"So how do you want to handle your meeting this afternoon?"

"Well… I can either confront him with what we've learned," Joe answered, suddenly breaking into a wicked grin, "or… I can tell him I found it."

#####

"That ought to do it." Frank took step back, patting a final strip of medical tape into place on Joe's chest. "As long as you keep all your clothes on this time, anyway."

Joe huffed, the air vaguely rearranging his blonde waves, before checking the wire across his torso. "Yeah, no plans on stripping for this particular meeting. Now if you could just keep Mary Poppins and her tea away from me, we'll be in business. Check the mike."

Frank nodded, adjusting an ear piece and running through a brief series of cross checks. "It's fine. And it's not your meeting with Mr. Causman that I'm worried about transforming into a nudist colony. It's tonight with Millicent."

The huff was bigger this time. "Can't believe she found another party to go to so soon. Don't these people have lives?"

The brunette laughed. "Too old to party every night already, little brother? Anyhow, I think their social calendar is their life. What it is it this time?"

"Charity benefit for the Ballet Society's scholarships."

"Doesn't sound too bad."

"Oh yeah, sounds great. First, I get to sit through a complete ballet that I can't even pronounce properly, then there's the obligatory half hour of speeches, then cocktails on the mezzanine, and last but not least, the after party at Fran's. What could be better?"

Frank shook his head, "Well, not sitting through all of that in the rental car afraid to make a bathroom run in case you get yourself in real trouble, for starters. At least you get hors d'oeuvres."

"Sorry. I'll pocket some cheese puffs and stuffed mushrooms."

"Phenomenally appetizing. And who's Fran?"

"One of Millicent's friends. Francesca Hawthorne-Shelton, more precisely. She's the one with the young brunette, ah, gentleman the other night. Come to think about it, you'd be right up her alley, Frank."

"Not happening. Besides, I'm spoken for."

"And I'm not?" Joe raised an eyebrow, grinning at his brother.

Frank smiled back. "I'm sure Vanessa thinks so. Still, Callie's finger has a ring on it, bro, and Nessa's doesn't. Come July, I am a married man. All these diamonds giving you any ideas?"

Joe's grin faded a little, not gone, but more wistful. "I didn't actually need any help with the idea department. I want to stay with Vanessa forever, she knows that, but I also want to be ready. Not commitment ready, I've been there a long time now, but finance ready, keep a decent roof over our head ready, prove that Joe Hardy can do the responsible thing ready…"

"I don't think she has any doubts about that, Joe. And she'll wait, you know that." Frank dropped a hand on his brother's shoulder with the smallest of reassuring squeezes.

The smile widened again. "Nah, knowing Ness, she'll probably just get fed up and propose to me."

#####

"I'm not certain I understand you, Mr. Hardy."

Joe leaned forward, forearms resting on the carved desk. "I'm fairly certain you do, Mr. Causman. You wanted me to find your diamond. I found it. Simple enough."

Edwin Causman rose from his leather office chair, shifting to perch on the corner of the desk near Joe. "You… found it. Ah, delightful then. When might I expect its return?"

 _Touché._ "The police will need to process all the stolen items as evidence, of course, I suspect it will be several days before the individual owners are contacted. There are some additional properties to be recovered and I have agreed to assist in their retrieval as well, in conjunction with the Atlanta Police Department. I have a related engagement this evening, actually."

"I see."

Joe's expression gave little away. "I'm sure that you do."

Mr. Causman paused, considering. "Were you by chance able to photograph my diamond? Not that I have any doubt that you've located the correct one, of course."

"Of course." Joe plucked his phone from his pocket, pulling up a photograph of a beautiful pale bluish stone nestled in a felt lined tray marked Atlanta PD. The surrounding calipers denoted its exact size. _Thank you, Frank and photoshop._ The background was easy enough to acquire, and the image of the diamond itself had been borrowed from the insurance company's original appraisal records. _Which were falsified to begin with… your turn, Edwin._

"I must say, Mr. Hardy, I am pleasantly surprised. I have not had much success locating stolen property in the past. The police searched, naturally, but they were never able to turn up my car. My thanks."

"I read about the Duesenberg theft. A pity, that, I love antique cars. The Baltimore cops never found your yacht back in '02 either, did they? Just vanished into thin air, almost like they were never there…"

Causman's eyes narrowed. "An interesting choice of words."

"Just an old saying. I best be going, don't want to keep the ballet crowd waiting." Joe stood, pushing himself upward with the desk edge before offering his hand to older man.

"Well then." The parting handshake was half dismissal, half bone crushing challenge. "Enjoy the dancing."

Joe brightened his smile, refusing to flinch. "Oh, I already have."

#####

"Joe Hardy! Can I have a moment?"

Joe had stepped out of the elevator ten seconds earlier, his brother's rental car visible through the huge plate glass windows. _Darn. Almost made it._ "Hi. I didn't catch your name yesterday."

Today's ensemble consisted of an orange poppy print ruffled dress, the calf length skirt swirling about spring green lace up sandals. A crocheted yarn sleeveless vest ended in fringe an inch or so above the skirt hem and bright red yarn tied the end of fish tail braid trailing over each shoulder, one of them brushing an enormous green tote. "It's Mary. Mary Travers."

 _Of course it is._ "Hello then, Mary. What can I do for you?"

"I'm just surprised to see you back here today, I mean after all the trouble yesterday, my trouble, oh, this isn't coming out well. I mean once I, or rather I didn't mean to, you know... oh dear…" Mary trailed off after latching on to Joe's forearm, looking flustered. "I'm really sorry about the whole tea thing."

"Not a big deal, ok? Oh, and I left the shirt I borrowed upstairs in the vestibule. Thanks for the loaner." Couldn't hurt to warm up the Hardy charm for later tonight.

"You're welcome." Mary reluctantly let go of him, batting her eyelashes more than could be considered coincidental. "So, you'll be back to update us again on Mr. Causman's diamond, I hope?"

"No, afraid not. The case is closed, so I probably won't be back around."

"Oh no! I was really hoping you'd find it. He'll be sooooo disappointed!"

Joe frowned slightly. "I didn't say I didn't find it."

A perplexed pout now accompanied the fluttery lashes. "But, you… you did?"

"Um hmm." Joe took a step toward the front doors, aware Frank's car door was now open, the older Hardy standing and apparently searching his backseat for something, but more likely ready to sprint toward his sibling should the need arise. "Sorry, but I do need to get going."

"Well, ok, I guess. Oh, hang on a second." Mary unzipped a side pocket of the bright green satchel, extracting a folded slip of paper. "I wrote this down in case I saw you again. It's the address for Mr. Causman's dry cleaner. The least we can do is take care of your shirt."

Joe took the paper automatically, nodding. "No need, really." A final smile lent a teasing tone to his words. "Thanks though. Bye, Ms. Mary Travers."

"Bye, Mr. Joseph Benjamin Hardy."

Joe glanced up sharply, surprised by the suddenly hardened expression on her face. _I never gave her my middle name…_

Rapidly crossing the street, Joe slid into the sedan and unfolded the paper in one motion, staring at the typed lettering and tiny embossed outline of a fish. **"We both know you didn't find that diamond, Joe. Don't press you luck. Or your brother's."**

#####

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to be continued...


	4. Chapter 4

Diamond Joe

A/N: So, I've finally admitted 2 things - my computer is not going to hack up the rest of this sort again like an errant hairball, I'm going to have to redo it, and two, while the overall story has its amusing moments, this just isn't a funny chapter. Alas, we have to get from chapter 3 to chapter 5 somehow, so here goes.

.

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Chapter 4

"Would you stop pacing already?"

Joe interrupted his endless circuit of his hotel room, one hand remaining on the top of his head for a ridiculous looking moment before he let out a huff and dropped down into the overly padded grey velvet chair. "What is taking you so long?"

Frank's mouth quirked into a tight smile. "I dunno, maybe I'm distracted by the constant speed-walking contest in here."

"I am not walking around that much!"

A deep brown eyebrow rose. "They're going to have to replace the carpet, Joe. Anyway, I'm not 'taking so long.' I'm taking the usual amount of time to search the fingerprint database, you're just impatient."

"Who me?" Joe finally let out the trademark Hardy smile. "Sorry, Frank, I just don't like threats… especially if they involve someone besides me."

"Can't say I'm wild about them, little brother, but you've got to admit 'don't push your luck' is pretty tame as threats go. At least for us."

"Certainly not the most creative one we've heard, I'll grant you that. Wonder how long it would take to make a list? Probably through retirement, at least."

Frank sighed and closed the laptop. "Unfortunately, whoever Mary Poppins, um, Travers is, her prints aren't on file. The only other print on that note is yours."

"I figured." Somewhere in the last few words Joe had begun another lap of the room. "She's not a flower-child turned secretary, though, and she's not a ditz either. That last look she shot me, she wasn't playing anymore, bro."

"Ok, I trust your judgement, Joe, but we don't have much to go on as to who she is. She's not a known convict, she's not a cop or federal employee. So only millions of women left to choose from. And I'm not a hundred percent sure what she's warning us away from."

"We could track the alias." Joe gestured at the computer. "Travers clearly isn't her real name, but find out who she is and we'll have a far better idea what she's up to."

Frank nodded, conceding the point, but he still looked thoughtful. "True, but…"

"But what?" Joe stopped mid-stride to stare at his sibling.

"But there isn't time before your big evening out, you know?"

"Of course, I know, but she threatened you! We need to find out now."

Frank took in his brother's indignant stance and softened his tone. "She threatened you, too. Fact remains, you need to be decked out to the nines in thirty minutes. Go change, unless we're backing out of this evening. After that, we head back to Bayport and see if any of this follows. Are we backing out of the ballet?"

Joe sighed and shook his head. "No, course not. I promised the Atlanta PD."

"Let me recheck that wire when you're done."

The younger detective paused halfway through the bathroom door. "I'll do it myself… I'll have enough people pawing at me tonight."

"Knew you couldn't resist another date with Millicent."

"Whatever!" Joe turned an awkward little circle on the ball of one foot before nearly falling over. "Although backing out wouldn't be a problem, dude, my ballet's just as awesome backwards as forwards."

"As you say, whatever."

##

##

"You look scrumptious, darling. Positively scrumptious! This evening should be grand." Millicent clamped a white gloved hand around Joe's offered arm, beaming at her friends as they entered the theater.

"Ah, thank you. Although I don't think I'll outshine you for the evening. That's an… uh… amazing dress." Joe blinked at the beaded and sequined sheath his date was barely encased in, wondering if sunglasses were wholly inappropriate indoors. If the stage lights hit the thing, they'd all be blind. He was fairly certain it was a deep forest green underneath; with all the reflected sparkle, it was a bit hard to say. It flared a tad below the knee, and the top half hadn't made much of an attempt to enclose anything, but in between it clung like paint. On the plus side, maybe she wouldn't be able to get out of it.

"Oh, I hear the orchestra. We'd best hurry."

"Lead the way." Joe was definitely in favor of hurrying, if they were sitting she'd have to remove her other hand from his rump. He slid into his seat between Millicent and Francesca, the brunette man from the prior party rounding out the quartet. Like Joe, he'd gone white tie for the evening, although his jacket sported the tails the younger Hardy had decided to forego.

The ballet itself was more tolerable than he'd hoped, although if he had to be honest he was more fascinated by the nineteenth century rococo styled theater. The copper tiled ceiling glowed in the amber lighting and ornate cherry columns flanked the walls, dividing antique burgundy silk wall covering. Even the wood rims of each of the thousand seats was daintily carved, lending the large chamber an oddly intimate feel.

Joe rose with the other patrons to applaud the performance, unprepared for Millicent to wrap around his shoulders and accost him with a quick peck on the cheek. "Millie!"

"Ah, now, no playing shy, love." She leaned into his ear to be heard above the ovation. "Let's see how quickly we can get through a few dances and head to Francesca's. Her parties are always delightful. I hear the estate's available for the whole weekend."

Joe schooled his features toward something he hoped approached suggestive. "Can't wait. You just surprised me!"

A throaty laugh accompanied a wink. "I plan on lots of surprises, dear."

#####

Two hours and a dozen dances barely skirting the acceptable side of public behavior found Joe at the dimly lit after party, thankful Frank had taped the wire lower than standard. If it had been anywhere on his upper chest, his extremely affectionate date would have found it by now.

"Be a love and hold this, will you?" Millicent handed off a soft silver clutch to Joe, nodding toward the ladies' room. "There's never anywhere to set the silly thing."

"Of course." Joe leaned against the wall, making a point of feigning boredom at was by far the most interesting development of the evening thus far. He looked down the marble corridor, spotting a chair to prop his foot on and busily tying his already tied shoe. "Frank? Hope you're catching all this, bro. Let's see what we have here."

He continued his whispered commentary, the clutch now perched on his thigh and concealed by his hunched posture. "Hmm, ID, visa card, roughly two hundred dollars, compact mirror, engraved pen, fussy little comb thingy, teal marker, oops, nah, that's eyeliner, I think, lipstick in passion berry, ugh, not what I wanted to think about… crud, not even a cell phone."

He was about to abandon his theory on documenting the available jewels when his tweezers snagged against a rough thread inside the purse. Something had been sewn into the lining. "Sewn closed, crap. Still, wait, hah! There it is. Millicent, you tricky little thing." Joe ran his finger along the outside of the bag, locating the small rectangular object and easily identifying the flat button to activate the video camera. "Very nice, Ms. Fields. Bet we have lovely recordings of all the rings and necklaces you've been chattering on about all night."

"What are you doing, Hardy?" The sharply hissed male voice surprised him and Joe whirled, coming within six inches of Francesca's boy toy of the moment.

"Tying my shoe, that a problem?" Joe straightened up with a chuckle.

The brunette frowned. "Not a problem, but I also don't tie my shoe with Ms. Fields' handbag."

"She's in the restroom and asked me to hold it, that all." Joe smiled, cultivating a casual air.

"Did she ask you to go through it, too?"

"What? I wasn't…" Joe sputtered a bit, not having to fake an indignant expression.

"Look, I don't really care, I mean I get it, right? We've all been there. Just be a little more subtle, you'll get us all caught." The brunette stuck out his hand. "I'm Carter. Oh, and don't take anything bigger than a sawbuck, she'll count the rest."

Joe shook the hand, and returned the smirking smile when Carter winked. _Great, now the escort thinks I'm a thief. Just great._

"Ah, much better. Another dance, Joe?" Millicent returned to his side, instantly plastering herself against his side.

"You know what?" Joe inched away, pointing toward the bar. "Why don't we get another drink, instead?"

"Of course. Be a peach and get me something frosty. I find I'm getting warmer and warmer this evening. Must be the company."

Joe placed his order at the bar, somewhat annoyed when Carter joined him.

"Enjoying your night?" Carter had abandoned his jacket and after hours of dancing the damp linen of his shirt clung in ways that made Joe a little queasy. "You know, there are easier ways to supplement your cash flow than raiding Millicent's purse."

A blonde eyebrow arched, followed by an intrigued smile. "How so?"

"Depends on how, ah flexible, you're willing to be with your options." Carter leaned backward against the bar, both elbows behind him on the wood.

Joe took a tiny sip of his scotch. "And how flexible are you?"

"According to Francesca… very." Carter downed his drink in single gulp. "Think about it, Hardy. Time to pay Daddy back for cutting off your allowance, hmm? See the other side of things. Come find me back here when Millicent's tucked in for the night if you're interested in hearing more. I'll be here, never takes that long upstairs."

Joe gave a small salute with his glass. "Far more than I wanted to know. Still, see you later."

Joe backed away, a drink in each hand, stumbling over a young woman who was suddenly there, directly behind him.

"Oh! I'm very sorry!" Joe flushed slightly, embarrassed, as he glanced down to see if any of the splashed pina colada had ended up on her gown. The deep bronze silk hugged exactly where it should, and one bare shoulder was covered in a sleek cascade of chestnut waves. A topaz pendant cradled itself in the hint of curves at the top of her dress, and a tiny trail of melting white ice followed the contour of skin before dipping out of sight. Joe snapped his eyes upward; he'd already sloshed a bit of frozen drink on her, he certainly didn't want to be caught staring.

The sophisticated face matched the gown, refined high cheekbones highlighted by hair swept back over one ear. A dusting of gold glimmered at lip and brow, but it was barely there, accenting ebony eyelashes and deep amber eyes, the overall effect elegant. His first thought was wow, but the second nearly choked him. "Mary?"

"What, didn't recognize me, Mr. Hardy?"

"Ah, no actually." Joe appraised her expression, deciding it gave nothing away. "Why are you here?"

"To enjoy the party, naturally. Dance with me, Joe." She offered her hand.

The blonde sleuth shook his head. "Thank you, but no. I better get back to my date."

"She'll wait." Mary plucked the drinks from his hands, setting them on a nearby table, before hooking a finger in his front beltloop and tugging him close. "You don't want to make a scene, now do you?"

Joe dropped his voice to match her near whisper. "No, but I don't want to dance either. If you'll excuse me."

Mary frowned, draping her other hand around the back of his neck and leaning in. "Your brother's outside in a silver buick sedan drinking coffee from a red ceramic thermos from the Radisson. He has on a blue button down and grey dockers. His socks are striped. Now dance with me."

Joe smiled, shifting a hand to the small of her back and holding her tight before starting to dance. Very tight. His head dropped, nuzzled against her neck to guard his words. "Stay away from Frank."

"Or what?" She turned her head, rasping directly into his ear, the action hidden from others with an intimate nibble. "I'm not near Frank. I'm also not alone. Go home, Mr. Hardy. Forget about diamonds."

Joe kissed the angle of her jaw, maintaining the façade. "It wouldn't matter if I did. The police are almost ready to close this investigation."

Mary twisted slightly in his grip, dropping something into his pant pocket. "What, Millicent and her little friends? Why would I care about that? The police can arrest the lot of them and put them under the jail for all it means to me. Forget about Edwin's diamond."

"Edwin doesn't have a diamond."

"Then forgetting it shouldn't be a problem, I trust. My boss is willing to forgive your little deduction about that. Take him up on it."

"Edwin Causman?"

She smirked before dropping her head to rest fully on his shoulder. "Don't be cute. Of course it's not Edwin Causman."

"Don't suppose you'd like to elaborate?" Joe laced his fingers in her hair, pulling her slightly away from him. He'd at least like to breathe.

"Not especially." Her hand trailed down his side, stopping with a hiss when they crossed a small bump. One she rapidly traced with a well-manicured nail. "Dammit, Hardy, you're wired."

"You're the one that pointed out my brother's outside, sweetheart. What, you just thought he couldn't get a better parking space at the hotel?"

"Funny."

"Yeah, I am. You, not so much." Joe edged their dancing closer to Carter and Francesca, wondering if either face would register recognition. Unfortunately, they were lost in their own world. "And since you're aware Frank's listening, you're aware he's well warned. Advantage Hardy."

"How sure are you of that, Joe? We've been pretty quiet." She kissed him again, adopting an adoring smile. "Maybe your brother's a sitting duck."

The music slowed and then stopped, causing Mary to relax her hold. Joe had little choice but to do the same.

"Check your phone."

Joe broadened his smile, but the sapphire eyes were stormy as he extracted the cell from his pocket. The photo nearly shook his expression. The crosshair of rifle scope was perfectly centered on Frank's chest.

"So here's what we'll do, Joe. We'll slip into the restroom, together, and you'll give me that charming little recorder of yours, just in case it caught this conversation. Then I'll leave, and you'll let me. Give me ten minutes and you can leave, too. Make sure you remember why we started this delightful conversation."

Joe took her by the hand, shooting a lecherous look at Carter over before pulling her into the men's room. He'd barely turned around before she was unbuttoning his tux shirt. "Thought the idea was for me not to remember. Make up your mind."

"Is that any way to talk to me?"

"I'd rather not talk to you at all. Wait. I'm gonna choke to death." Joe untied his tie, discarding it on the counter with a sense of déjà vu. _Wait, that's only if the same thing didn't actually happen before… what it is with this chic and my clothes…_

As soon as the shirt hit the floor, she clawed the wire loose from his skin, extracting the tiny recorder with a final tug. "I trust you like Frank well enough to wait the ten minutes?"

"Stay away from him, heck, stay away from both of us. You've got your ten minutes."

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to be continued...


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: It's official, the computer and I hate each other now. Ok, so a bit melodramatic. This was a good chapter in its original state - you know, the one the computer ate. It seems dry and sort of dull now, or maybe that's just the mid story doldrums because I like chap 6 and 7 better. I have those mostly redone now, too, so we should be back to business in terms of posting every few days. Sadly work went nuts and then my brain seems to want to focus on the other HB story I'm working on. So, did I cover all the expected excuses for delays? Should I throw in the one about my grandma's neighbor's uncle's cat got lost and we had to search night and day for weeks in the jungle to find it and it had morphed into a giant Siberian tiger and I've been detained by the X files crew until I reveal my secret feline enlarging formula? Ok, so I don't live near a jungle or know how to manufacture tigers, but I do have a cat, so that one's plausible, right? And so much more interesting than busy at work and files didn't save properly. Ah well... Thank you for everyone who inquired as to whether this tale was still alive, especially Cherylann and Paulina Ann. It's most appreciated.

Diamond Joe

Chapter 5

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.

 _Gotta get outside. Outside right now. Well, right now minus Mary's nine minutes, thirty seconds and counting. Crud who decided the buttons on tux shirts needed these little cover doohickeys, anyway? They have a name, I think, probably… nah, maybe it's just doohickeys. Or dooma-flotchit? That one's Frank's favorite. Thingamajigger? Great, talking to myself again except now in Jabberwockiese. And these little doobawhatsits have rolled all the way under the counter, of course… Hang tight Frank, coming now minus seven minutes… six minutes… I so don't fit under this counter…_

"Oww!" Joe scampered backwards from beneath the bathroom counter, grasping the last of the elusive button studs in one hand and rubbing the back of his head with the other. "Knew I didn't fit under there."

"I could have told you that."

Joe froze mid crawl for a heartbeat, then spun around in an off-balance wobble, ending up flat on his tail on the marble floor and managing to knock his head again in the process. His eyes immediately sought the ones above him. "Frank?"

"Obviously."

Joe grabbed the hem of his brother's dockers, jerking the gray cotton upwards and letting out a low hiss. "Stripes!"

"Um, yeah?" The older of the pair took a step backwards when his sibling reached for his other pant leg.

Joe caught it anyway, pulling it up half way to the knee. "Definitely stripes."

"Not to put too fine a point on it, Joe, but what in the heck are you doing?"

"You could have gotten shot, you know. Your socks really are striped." The younger of the pair stood, accepting a pull from his brother.

"Not sure that striped socks are illegal here, actually, but if they are the penalty probably isn't firing squad."

"Ha-ha, funny Frank." Joe jerked his shirt back on and started buttoning. "Mary was here."

Frank looked quizzical. "Flower child, bohemian, Mary Poppins, welcome back to the summer of love, bumbling, Mary? It didn't sound like her."

"No… or… ah, well yes, it was her, but not that version. How much did you hear?"

"Enough to grasp that you were talking to a woman that didn't want to be overheard and then the wire went dead." The brunette suddenly looked more serious. "I was concerned I'd find something worse than you doing battle with the sink."

"How'd you get in here?"

"Uh, framed hole in the wall with this hinged wood flap and the little knob on the edge…"

"Smart ass is my job."

"Yeah. No argument there. I walked in the back with a case of wine from the kitchen, dropped it off at the bar. Why is your shirt off again?"

Joe gave an exasperated shrug, shaking his head. "The usual way this week. Mary yanked it when she took the wire. She got the recorder, too."

"Doesn't matter, the back-up in the sedan is working fine; we have all the evidence on Millicent you need."

"Good." Joe let out a long breath. "I think this incarnation of Mary is the real one, by the way. Sophisticated and more than a little threatening."

"More than don't push your luck?"

"You could say that." Joe extracted his phone, showing the photo from earlier to his brother.

Frank stared at it a long moment before sighing. "Don't think I care for her taste in photography. We have what we need; let's get you out of here."

Joe frowned. "I'd love to, but no."

"No? Sounded like you were headed outside when I walked in."

"True, but that's when I thought Mary's pals were considering using you for target practice. Since you're not perforated, I need to stick around for a meeting."

"Meeting? That's what you and dearest Ms. Fields are calling it now?" Dark eyebrows waggled briefly. "Seriously, Joe, I heard you talking to Carter, but this is getting a little dicey. Let's go."

"I'm ninety percent sure he's the actual thief once Millicent scouts out the jewels. Give me an hour, two tops." Joe stared at his brother, waiting on Frank to agree.

"I don't have ears on you now."

"I know that."

"Mary decides to come back and shoot you instead, my first head's up will be hearing the shot. You've got no back up."

"Yeah, I know, but she'd have done that earlier if she wanted to."

"You'll have to fend off Millicent the octopus again."

"Know that, too."

"I don't like this."

 _No kidding._ "And I know that."

Frank appeared to have suddenly swallowed a lemon, probably peel and all, but he reluctantly nodded. "Fine. Back pool entrance, one hundred twenty minutes, you and your shirt. At one twenty-one, I call the Marines."

"Thought they weren't speaking to you anymore."

"Joe…"

"Yeah, yeah, you got it. One hundred twenty minutes, at the pool gate."

#####

#####

"There you are! I've been looking everywhere! Just everywhere!" Millicent's soprano rumbled out as a possessive purr. "And you don't even have our drinks…"

"Sorry about that, Millicent, I got a little distracted. Let's walk back to the bar." Joe turned on his best grin.

"Hmm. I saw what distracted you, Joe Hardy, and it'll take more than a daquiri and come-hither smile to make it up to me. You'll embarrass a lady flirting like that, even if the little tramp was pretty. Especially dragging the tart in the restroom! What were you thinking? Still, come upstairs with me and all is forgiven."

It took a lot of effort to maintain his smile, but the blush came easily enough. "Mostly she did the dragging, but forgiveness is good for the soul, they say."

"It's not my soul that needs your attention."

"I suppose we could fix that." Speaking without choking was a challenge, but Joe persevered.

"I suppose we could. Follow me, love." Millicent stuck an emerald laden finger through his cummerbund, tugging the blonde to the staircase.

Joe assessed his options on the way up the curving stone stairs, then shifted his weight suddenly forward, right knee slamming into the step above him and left foot sliding backward off the edge where he'd been standing a second before.

"JOE! You ok?" Millicent hurriedly sat down, planting a palm against Joe's back and awkwardly patting.

"Ow! Yeah, I'm practically spectacular." Joe braced both hands against the stair and pivoted to sit, careful not to let his left foot touch anything. "Give me a second." The faint chant continued under his breath. "Ow, ow, ow…."

"I can get someone to…"

He interrupted abruptly. "No, no need. I'll be able to walk in a minute."

"Are you sure, dear?"

"Yes. I let my foot slip somehow. I'm not normally that clumsy."

Millicent winked. "I can attest to that, my Fred Astaire. Here, scooch over to the railing."

Joe did so, grabbing the banister and lurching to his feet. Or foot rather, the left one held gingerly off the ground. "Maybe I should head back downstairs and get some ice for this."

"Don't be silly. It's only three steps to the top and twenty some back down. I'll get you settled in our room, then I'll get the ice." Millicent kissed his cheek, then reached to steady his elbow.

"Makes sense." _Unfortunately_. Joe hopped his way up the remaining steps and into the designated suite, audibly swallowing at the lack of a sofa. It seemed extraordinarily unlikely that Millicent would believe he wanted to sit on backless barstools with a sprained ankle.

"Here you go." Faster than he would have thought possible, Millicent had helped him to the edge of the four-poster king bed and was busily removing his socks and shoes. "Scoot over, silly boy, there's no room for me."

"Now that would be a shame." Joe shifted sideways, creating the minimum distance he thought she'd tolerate. "Heck, I think I banged my other knee almost as much as my ankle. Of all the stupid, klutz things to do. About that ice…"

Millicent smiled, more wanton than friendly. "I'll be right back. Now don't go anywhere, love, not that you could, I guess."

"I'll be here waiting." _Take your time, bring a whole iceberg._

With a laugh, she was out the door.

Joe sat up the second he heard the latch click, stretching his right leg before hopping off the bed. He really had landed on his knee a bit harder than he intended, but it was a minor nuisance at best. A quick squat and experimental kick confirmed everything was in working order. A tiny seam ripping sound from the vicinity of his rear confirmed he'd better not try that again. _Perfect. Least it doesn't feel like a visible hole. Who knew tuxedos weren't active wear… last Bond film I saw, you can do anything in these…_

Crossing the room, he surveyed the contents almost unconsciously, gauging the small distance from the foot of the massive bed to the carved teak bar, the row of padded stools tucked neatly underneath. A huge armoire nestled between the side of the bed and the far wall, the inlaid wood design partially hidden by the brocade of antique bed curtains and dim candlelight. A single door on that wall allowed a glimpse of a large private bath, and what had initially appeared to be a ceiling to floor bay window behind the bar turned out to have a French door built into the central panel.

Joe slipped behind the counter, peaking out the doors. A narrow balcony overhung the pool deck and tropical landscaping, tiki torches lighting the deep blue water directly below. He spotted two diving boards at the near side, one at least ten feet above the water, and a smaller hot tub at the far edge of the courtyard. In a welcome stroke of good luck, the scrollwork gate of the pool deck was only about thirty feet to the left of the balcony where he stood. Backing up, he bumped his heel against a potted palm tree about his height. It had been decorated for Valentine's Day, a thin strand of metallic red twined among the branches with tiny cupids interspersed. _Still all your fault, dude, and I am never spending Valentine's weekend with anyone else ever again. Ever. Great, still talking to myself but in silent mode. Like those grainy old movies, except more insane._

Hearing footsteps in the hallway, Joe dashed back to the bed, perfectly composed on the blue damask as Millicent opened the door. A large silver bucket brimmed with ice and she held a smaller, empty basin in her other hand. Depositing both beside an ostentatious display of roses already on the nightstand, she bent for a closer inspection of Joe's ankle.

"Well at least it doesn't seem to be swelling so far." She plucked three of the azure toned pillows from the other side of the bed, arranging a pile before easing Joe's foot onto the top. Filling a bag with the ice, she gently placed it over the ankle. "That ought to help."

"Thank you." Joe felt a tiny pang of conscience for deceiving her, but he had another hundred minutes to fill before Frank picked him up. The last half of that he still intended to meet with Carter. The first half, though, well, he'd rather not spend it playing beach blanket bingo with Ms. Fields.

"You're welcome." Millicent leaned over, ruffling a manicured hand through Joe's hair before grabbing the silver dish she'd brought. "Let me see what we've got to work with."

Joe propped up on his elbows, gaze following her to the bathroom. She re-emerged holding the metal in both hands, the soft scent of sandalwood and oranges drifting along. Most unfortunately the tight sheath dress she'd worn all evening did not emerge with her.

Joe stifled a splutter at the lace evergreen bra and panties. "Millie? Not sure I'm up to much right now."

"Nonsense. What you need is to loosen up all those muscles of yours before that knee and ankle completely stiffen up. And massage oil is not coming out of my gown, best dry cleaner in town or not. Besides, tomorrow night is Valentine's and I intend to enjoy it. With you. My dime, my rules, young Mr. Hardy. Now let's get you out of that shirt."

 _Sure, why not, I'm considering giving up shirts for lent this year anyway…_ Joe glanced at the oil in the bowl. "Wouldn't it do more good to massage my ankle than my back?"

Millie was already busily unbuttoning. "We'll get to both. I can do the knee, too, if you want to lose the pants."

"No! Um, the knee's fine. Better than fine, probably. Not sure why I mentioned it."

A low laugh followed that statement. "This pseudo-shy streak of yours, Joe, it's adorable. You're such a player downstairs, but you really are new to this, aren't you? I don't bite, you know."

The white shirt, bowtie, and cummerbund formed a small mound on the floor. "I'm not shy, Millie, but maybe I'm used to making the first move."

She raised an eyebrow, searching the sapphire eyes reflecting the candles' flicker. "Then prove it."

Joe drew in a deep breath before pulling Millicent into a long kiss, then playfully pushed her away with a chuckle. "Not until I get that back rub." _Sorry, Nessa._

"Hmm. Very well, but I expect a return of the favor."

Joe winked before rolling to his side, carefully keeping his foot on top of the pillows. "Of course."

Millicent had abandoned the broad expanse of his shoulders by the time the antique clock chimed out and was kneading the sole of Joe's foot before either of them spoke again.

"Feeling better?"

Joe let out a drowsy murmur that was indistinguishable as anything approaching language. In fact, he couldn't have been more awake, counting out every second until he could escape and meet up with Carter.

"What was that, love? You're not falling asleep, are you?" Millicent sounded amused.

"Hmm? No. Just thinking." Joe kept the bed head whisper in his voice.

"About what?"

"You. Well, you, and Francesca and Carter, I guess."

"I must say I'd prefer you weren't thinking about Francesca at the moment, but Carter can be fun." Millicent added a suggestive giggle.

"Not like that. I mean this big old house, and your estate, too, and all the parties, and the flirting…. How long has it been this way?"

"You mean was there ever a Mr. Fields and a nine to five routine? Chocolate-chip cookies for the PTA instead of debauchery?"

"I suppose?"

"Not really. Oh, there was a Mr. Fields, a long time ago, and he was as much my senior as I am yours; spent his time working twenty-three hours a day and only occasionally remembered there was a pretty little trophy waiting up at home. I was attractive enough to show off at all his parties and articulate enough to entertain all the socialites with tales of how amazingly brilliant he was. A few of them might even have been true. Eventually, though, all the money couldn't bribe Father Time. Then it was just me; we never had any children, and I was bored. And what's good for the gander is good for the goose, or something like that."

"And you're not bored now?"

"Joe, my young friend, you may be too observant for your own good. Of course I'm bored. That's what you're for. Or Carter six months ago, or whomever happens to be here come Christmas. A girl has to have her hobbies, love."

 _Careful, Hardy, steer very carefully, we're almost there._ "So, you and Carter? Before Francesca?"

"Before Francesca and after Sarah, I think. He's not particular, but he sure is fun. And not a shy bone in **his** body, I must say."

"I wouldn't have thought any of your, ah, gentlemen friends would stay around that long term."

Millicent shrugged. "Most don't. Carter is kind of a special case, though."

Joe feigned confusion. "How so?"

"Let's call it supplemental income."

"His or yours?"

The kneading stopped abruptly. "What do you know, Joseph?"

Joe sat up, maintaining a seductive grin. "What do you think I know, Millie?"

"Carter is a resourceful young man. Sometimes Francesca and I help him out with that." Millicent's gaze was calculating now.

"Because you're bored."

"Precisely." She appeared to be considering how much else to say. "Francesca mentioned that Carter was hoping to talk to you later."

Joe nodded, equally careful in choosing his words. "We discussed meeting up later."

"Tonight? Not sure that's very flattering." A mock pout graced Millicent's face.

"Well, you did fall asleep on me the other night, Mil." Joe smiled, giving her another quick kiss.

"True. Although I'm starting to suspect you may have engineered that."

Joe smirked, mimicking her tone from before. "Nonsense."

"So… exactly how fed up with being out of Daddy's money are you, Joe?"

 _You have so never met my father if you think he'd fund Frank or I being irresponsible playboys… although picturing Frank asking would be a hoot… focus Joe…_ "Very. I got the impression Carter might have some suggestions for that."

Millicent seemed to reach a decision. "He just might. Let's put our evening activities on hold an hour, shall we? I'll call him down here."

Joe startled. "Now? Won't Francesca mind?"

"Don't be silly; I'm sure they'd both love to join us."

 _There are so many ways to take that… and most of them are not PG13…_

#####

#####

Ten minutes later, Carter and Francesca let themselves in, both now dressed in black slacks and turtlenecks.

"Having a good night?" Millie gestured at small pouch bulging out from Carter's pocket.

He laughed, darkly handsome and reckless in the candlelight, before spilling an elaborate diamond choker and emerald tennis bracelet across the bedding. "Judge for yourself."

"Those are lovely, my dear, lovely. Broker here tomorrow?" Millicent was clearly used to the pair popping in with a million dollars in jewels.

Francesca shook her head. "Day after. Apparently, he wants to spend Valentine's with the wife."

"How quaint." Carter frowned. "I take it you've pre-empted my discussion with Joey here."

"I started to, yes, but it seems you've finished it out fairly well with this display." Millicent nodded at the jewelry.

"I did a little reading on you, blondie. You sure we can trust you on this side of the law?" Francesca peered at Joe, assessing.

Joe nodded slowly, affecting a little amazement. "So, the jewel thefts the last month… all you guys?"

Carter gestured to Millicent snuggling back against Joe's bare chest in her lingerie. "Figured you could identify guys better than that, Hardy." He grabbed his phone and snapped a quick picture.

"Hey! What's that for?" Joe glared at the other man.

"Insurance. I think we can trust you, but if you decide to go all detective again someday, I doubt the 'year I was a gigolo' is something you'll want out there."

The glare continued. "I am not going to waste my life filing triplicate police forms in between getting shot at for a cop's wage, or under my father's thumb either. You don't need your blackmail pic. Whatever it is you're up to, I'm in."

Carter smiled. "Okay then. I propose a test."

Joe relaxed a fraction. "What sort of test?"

Carter stripped out of his shirt, flinging it at Joe. "You'll need something darker. There's one more item worth snatching tonight, and I elect you to do the snatching."

Millicent shook her head. "Joe can't play cat burglar tonight, he hurt his ankle."

"The ring we're after is here in the mansion, so he won't need to hobble far. The Carltons' are staying over."

"Carter! We've never taken anything from the party we're attending. It ruins the alibi." Francesca looked scandalized.

"We've never had Hardy here to take the fall if we're caught, either. How about it, Joe? You still in, or are you too crippled for the night?"

Joe tilted his head, pondering. "You know your alibi theory doesn't hold water, right? I can prove I wasn't in town until well after your robbery spree started. Still, sounds like fun. Millicent has done wonders with my foot, I can do it."

"Terrific. Third floor, fourth room on the right. Be back here in under half an hour or I might have to send that picture to dear old dad."

Joe shrugged. "Hey, if a picture of Millie in her underwear does it for your dad, that's between the two of them. See you in thirty." _Actually, twenty six, and Frank you better not be late…_

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 _to be continued..._


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Hi all! This chapter is mostly Joe talking to himself at the very end, so if you don't like it you'll have to take it up with Mr Hardy. I was just sort of a long for the ride. One more after this I think, although I may split it in two. We'll see. Anyway, this was a chance to see what Joe's up to in his head all day, or night as the case may be. Thank you to Cherylann, Paulina Ann, BMSH, Evergreen, and Max2013 for the reviews.

Diamond Joe

Chapter 6

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.

 _Didn't expect to use these tonight… At least they weren't in my jacket pocket; I haven't the faintest idea where that ended up. Fourth tux I've had to replace this year. Dad better not take on any more diplomatic work unless I start getting a separate clothing allowance from the agency._ Joe peered both directions down the dim hallway before selecting a slim item from the miniature lock pick set. The bedroom door swung inward with a satisfying snick in a matter of seconds, the faintest trace of light ebbing into the suite. Pausing at the door jamb, he slowed his breathing, waiting for his eyes to adjust and listening intently for any sound within. Hopefully the Carltons doubled as the reincarnation of Fred and Ginger and were still waltzing their way over the parquet flooring downstairs.

But naturally, they weren't. Two silhouettes huddled under the heavy duvet, the larger wrapped around the smaller. Fortunately, the softest of snores attested to their slumber, and Joe eased his way into the room. He hadn't bothered to put socks back on, knowing bare feet were the quietest option for clandestine entry outside of the soft black wrestling shoes he kept for this purpose. Carter had expressed some concern about the pale feet 'glowing in the dark,' but Joe had dissuaded him from that line of thought. After all, he hadn't brought anything to darken his face, and it wasn't like he had a hat with him. Moon glow feet weren't going to make that much of a difference. _Man, you can tell Carter's not a blonde. Never indulge in any breaking and entering without a good hat, my friend. Otherwise it's all Rudolph and the blinkin' beacon phenomenon, only four shades paler._

Simply waking the couple and explaining he was working with the police and needed to borrow their ring was an option, and the detective considered it. For an entire second, maximum. Way too many opportunities for that to go sideways. At worst, they wouldn't believe him and Mr. Carlton would try to knock him over the head with their edition of the complimentary Valentine roses, at best they'd want to call the police to verify who he was. Either way, the delay would be far more than the nineteen minutes he had left and Carter, Millie, and Francesca would have time to pull a runner when the alert went out. And knowing Frank, an alarm would most certainly go out. _Wonder if a Coast Guard cutter will fit in that pool…_

A rapid perusal of the room confirmed it was arranged identically to the one he'd just vacated. No safe then. Joe quickly and silently perused the drawers, bathroom counter, and bar. No ring. Sadly, that left one option. Mrs. Carlton was wearing it. Creeping his way to the edge of bed, he got a better look at the couple.

Mr. Carlton appeared to be just past middle age, the bear like build of an athlete gone soft, one huge arm flung around the waist of his much smaller wife. Mrs. Carlton was closer to the edge of the bed, perhaps forty, her right hand draped over her husband's shoulder as she curled into his chest. The faint shimmer of the huge pear-shaped diamond on her pinkie was evident even in the scant light from the window.

Joe remembered the pair now, they'd spoken to Millicent briefly at the ballet and then spent most of both parties afterward sampling from the bar. This might still be doable, assuming the couple was somewhat drunk. Still, he hesitated. Somehow taking the ring off her hand seemed different from simply taking it. Maybe that was it. Maybe it was the expanse of ash blonde hair fanned across her pillow. He wasn't unaware that Mrs. Carlton looked more than a bit like an older, shorter version of Vanessa. He'd skin anyone that broke into Vanessa's room at night and frightened her, and he wouldn't particularly care why.

Sixteen minutes. _Make up your mind, Hardy. You're twenty-three years old, you're not supposed to need a venn diagram and a slide rule to decide something. Just go downstairs and tell Carter that she's wearing the ring and we'll have to get it another day. No need to scare the lady. Right, and non-violent crime sprees never go south and get people dead in the end. I can stop it right here, make sure no one gets hurt . So… yeah… get the ring; don't scare her. Easy, right?_

Joe laid a single gloved finger on the top of the diamond, holding his breath. No one moved. Ever so slowly he nudged the circle forward, relieved when it wasn't tight. A full minute later, the elegant platinum filigree band was in his palm.

Joe sent out a silent prayer, uncertain on the appropriateness of giving thanks for successful thievery, and took a step backward. Thick carpet notwithstanding, the floor thought it would be an excellent time to let out a loud creak. Joe froze, hoping for the best and doubting he was going to get it.

At the first sign of confused movement within the bed, Joe darted a forlorn glance at the door. Too far. Dropping to a crouch he rolled under the bed, the movement over in half a second and surprisingly silent. Maybe all those childhood games with Fenton had a purpose after all.

"Henry?" The drowsy murmur filtered through the mattress to the cramped space below. "I heard something."

"Mumphff. What?"

Mrs. Carlton spoke again, shifting to sit on the edge of the bed, one slim foot dangling six inches from Joe's nose. "I heard a noise."

The bed above shifted, old fashioned slats pressing downward and forcing Joe further down against the floor. "Like what?"

She continued to half whisper, apparently more apprehensive than her husband. "A creak, or pop, or something."

A loud sigh came from above as the bedside lamp clicked on. "It's an old house, honey. See, there's nothing here."

"I guess. Still, it felt like someone was in here staring."

"There is. Me." Her husband chuckled and the unmistakable sound of a smooch filled the room. "Besides, you can't feel someone staring at you. Let's go back to sleep."

 _You are one hundred percent wrong on that one, friend. I'd take your wife's instincts over yours any day. Maybe not starting tonight, though, if you don't mind._ Twelve minutes.

Joe grimaced when the bed above started to have a little bounce to it. _Oh, no… no, no, do_ _ **not**_ _do that. You said back to sleep. That is_ _ **NOT**_ _sleeping. Not now._ _ **Absolutely not.**_ _Not while I'm here. Get back to that whole land of nod thing, will ya? No, definitely do not keep that up. Stop. Stop I say! You're not stopping. Aw man, cut that out. Aren't you two like too old and married for that? Stop. Stop. Ugh, great she's a squealer. Did_ _ **not**_ _need to know that._

A louder gasp from above accompanied a thumping roll that dipped the bed into a collision with Joe's head. _Now that's uncalled for! You want to be that way about it, I'll just leave._ _At least you're distracted. Really, really, really distracted…_ Joe slithered sideways beneath the bed, crab crawling to the far side of the mattress and the eighteen inches from there to the bathroom. _Hope the two seconds I devoted to looking at the outside of this place pans out. Otherwise, I am flat out of luck…_

He crawled from the carpet to the tile, resisting the urge to close the bathroom door behind him. If he stayed quiet, the pair in the other room seemed unlikely to notice much of anything. Creeping to the oversized jetted tub, he stepped in, then stood on the far ledge to inspect the window latch. The window itself was large enough, but it tiled outward at the bottom rather than sliding fully to the side as he'd hoped. This was going to be tricky. In a 'nearly impossible but don't let that keep you from considering it just because it's insane' sort of way. _Never stopped me before…_

Joe tilted the window as far as he possibly could before easing one foot outside. His other leg followed as he gripped the edge of the tub with both hands, leaving him half upside down to wriggle backward on his belly. If he could get to his waist, he was home free. From there, momentum would carry him outdoors and he didn't think the stone trim was that far below. It had better not be.

Unfortunately, his hips didn't seem to be aware of the plan, wedging painfully against the slanted glass above. _Come on, another inch is all I need. Suck it in, Hardy… wait, that only works for your stomach and tight jeans, not your butt, right? Gawd, that's, um, getting a little personal. This gets any tighter and I will never need to worry about doing what the Carltons are doing ever again. Ow, ow, ow… seems to be the mantra for the night… ow... I am so, so stuck… argh!_

Generally, Joe would have worried about whether that last gasp stayed strictly in his head. Of course, generally he hadn't propelled himself backwards out a third story window with a sudden final heave, barely managing to grab the sill with a latex gloved hand. One that was rapidly slipping free. The ledge should be right there! Why wasn't it?

Desperately tracing over the wall with bare toes, he located the stone edging, six inches higher than his estimate. Carefully aligning one foot, then the other, on the narrow sandstone, Joe clung to the wall, fingertips seeking purchase in the grout lines and toes flexed into the sandstone. Satisfied he was as stable as you could be playing Spiderman in a thirty-five degree rain on slick stone, he gave himself a few seconds to simply pant for air. _Frank better not want any nieces or nephews…_

The lateral trip of fifteen feet to the bathroom window next door seemed much farther, the internal clock in Joe's head switching from an imagined tick-tock to a relentless clacking. Seven minutes.

Flopping into the blessedly empty room, another of his allotted moments passed before he felt confident enough to abandon the comfort of having every centimeter of his body firmly in contact with the floor. Sadly, a minute was all he could afford to spare. He stood, drawing a deep breath and checking his pocket for the still safely nestled ring, before tapping the side of his phone. Time to get back downstairs.

Fortunately, the darkened hallway and stair remained empty, permitting an uneventful entry back into the suite he and Millicent occupied. He broke into a manufactured grin as he crossed the threshold, extracting the diamond band from his pocket. "I got it."

Millie and Francesca both returned the smile, Fran patting him on the back and Millicent indulging in kiss that promised far more, one leg wrapping around Joe's calf to force him against her. The unexpected move buckled his knee, all his weight shifting to his left leg to prevent a tumble.

"I knew you could, Joe! Welcome to our game. This is going to be such grand fun." Oblivious to his struggle for balance, Millicent kissed him again, fingers disappearing in his hair. At least she'd slipped on silk robe at some point.

"Wait." Carter's interruption was blunt and caught both of the ladies by surprise. He extended his hand for the ring, which Joe handed over. "Nice job, but you're wet. Why?"

"Uh, yeah, went outside a second." Joe shrugged, suggesting it was of no importance.

Carter's frown deepened. "Again why? I was out on the balcony, Jo and you never came out the mansion's back door."

Joe disentangled himself from Millicent. "That's not the only door."

"No, but the front or garden entrance is a good five minute walk one way, plus you had to steal the ring in the totally opposite direction, walk through whoever is still downstairs cleaning up, and get back up here. Seems odd."

Another shrug. "Adrenaline rush, I guess. Needed a minute outside."

"Even so, not using the door right here doesn't make sense."

Joe looked a lot less nonchalant now. "What are you trying to say, Carter?"

"I'm not saying anything. Just noting this room has a great view of the third story outside wall, Hardy. Impressive. Especially for a dude with a bum foot. Not that you're limping now."

"Hmm. That. I got closer to getting caught than I would have wanted, had to slip out through the bathroom. Didn't want to blow my first assignment."

"First and last." Carter stomped forward, well within range of the larger man. "You lied, Joe, and I was wrong to trust you. You're a cop's kid at heart still, aren't you?"

"Carter, puh-leazze. So he fibbed a bit. Not like we don't all the time." Millicent latched on to Carter's arm, eyelashes fluttering. "You'll spoil the fun."

Carter yanked his arm free. "This may all be a game to you two, but this is how I survive. Sleeping with a bunch of rich ladies while I am at it has been a perk, but I'm not going to jail over anyone's amusement."

"Carter! Is that all I am, a perk?" Francesca stomped her foot, seeing a new side to her companion.

"Like I was ever more than that! And I do have my own bedmates my age, you know."

Joe's eyes narrowed with a flash of insight. "Mary."

Carter nodded, smirking. "Yeah, Mary. I was surprised you stayed tonight, Hardy, but since you did…"

"You set me up. This is connected to the insurance fraud case after all." Joe frowned, piecing it all together.

Millicent plucked at Joe's sleeve. "Who's Mary?"

Joe turned to her, almost sympathetic. "Someone who's helping Carter play you for a putz. Your contact with the broker for the stolen jewelry, it's a woman, am I right?"

"Yes, but…"

Carter cut off the conversation. "Fascinating, no doubt, but at the moment Joe doesn't have time for twenty questions. He's got an appointment to take the blame for this whole endeavor."

"Actually, I don't think I will. You are right that I don't have time to chat, though. If you'll excuse me…" Joe took a step toward the door, his mental clock abruptly reaching full on Big Ben.

Carter whirled as soon as he detected the movement, launching a sweeping kick that drove Joe backward.

Letting the momentum carry him, the blonde rolled, landing on his feet directly in front of the bed. A flurry of punches and grappling ensued, both of the ladies retreating to the safety of the bathroom as first the roses and then a candleholder crashed to the floor. A right hook snapped Joe's head sideways, creating a miniscule space between the battling pair.

Joe instantly took advantage, jumping up on the foot of the bed. Wrapping a fist around the bedpost, he flung out a kick of his own, knocking Carter flat. Two additional sounds punctuated the bounce of brunette's skull on the floor, one actual and one strictly inside Joe's head. Francesca's scream was shrill, if not unexpected, but it was the imaginary sound that concerned him the most. The clock was blaring now, thirty seconds until Frank charges in.

Not that he couldn't use the back up, goodness knows, but even dazed Carter was rolling to his side, extracting a small glock from his trousers and pointing it at Joe.

 _Man, Frank's on vacation, he does not need this… come to think of it, neither do I…_ Drawing a reluctant breath, Joe took the only option that got him immediately out of the line of fire and guaranteed his brother would never be in it.

A single leap carried him from the mattress to the top of the teak bar, with a second one shoving through the French door to grasp the balcony rail. He took a glance at the dark pool two stories below, praying the diving board meant what he thought it did. An initial shot whizzed a dozen feet to his left, but once the thief behind him fully regained his senses, Joe doubted he'd miss. Time to go.

He called back over a shoulder. "Call the police, Millie, you're into more than you think. Thanks for an interesting evening." He perched on the rail for a heartbeat, then dove for the water below.

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to be continued:


	7. Chapter 7

Diamond Joe

Chapter 7

.

 _COLD!_

 _Cold!_

 _Cold!_

 _Cold._

 _Cold._

 _cold._

 _cold_

 _cooold…_

 _cooooooold…._

 _coooooooooooo…_

 _sleep… too cold to get up, Frank…I'll just sleep… just for a little while…_

 _no…._

 _No…_

 _NO! Stuck!_

Joe panicked as he realized he was stuck at the bottom, the fabric of his turtleneck wrapped in the drainage system of the pool. The first rollover almost freed him, but the second seemed to yank him in further, holding him fast against the painted blue of the wall. Desperate tumbling followed, each revolution welding him tighter to the unyielding curve of concrete.

 _Not the way I'm going out… drowning in a pool is not an option… Argh… Gotta… get… free!_

A final tug in the opposite direction ripped the cloth loose from the twisting detective, sending a choking Joe to the surface. He broke into the air, drinking it in with long greedy gasps.

An almost immediate reminder of his need to hurry collided from both directions. Frank was yelling from the other side of the gate, incomprehensible words that had likely been blaring for some time while he stripped off his shirt, shoes and socks already strewn on the cobblestones beside the car. The words were lost in the recollection from above, the zing of a bullet striking the water ten inches from his head instantly refocusing his attention.

Pulling himself from the water and running for the gate, Joe began to gesture wildly at his sibling. Frank stopped his strip tease, hopping back in the car and throwing open the passenger side door. The yelling at him apparently hadn't ceased, but the younger Hardy couldn't hear it, instead focused on the pounding of his feet. A vault and three scrambling jumps, two up, one down, and he was sliding into the car, slamming the door and shouting at the same time.

"Go! Go!" Joe barely got the door closed before the car spun around, squealing tires all the way. "Woah, Frank! Fast, not deadly."

"You hurt?" Frank dodged a large planter and skidded sideways onto the road.

"No."

"You sure?" He sped away from the estate and onto the country road that led to it, picking up speed.

"I'm fine, Frank." Joe looked at his brother, realizing the way he was driving there was no way it was mutual. "Really."

"Good." Frank swerved around a curve, then gradually slowed down and dropped into the seventy mile an hour traffic once he reached the main road. "Then I don't have to feel guilty when I kill you. Of all the lain-brain things to do, Joe, diving off there like that! How'd you know there was even water in there! How'd you know it was deep enough? What in the heck happened in the pool anyway? I thought I was going to have to dive in there after you!"

"Hey, I looked for the water **before** I decided to take the plunge, thank you, including the fact that there's a ten-foot high dive, which told me what I needed to know about the depth… I did catch my shirt on some sort of drainage system, but that could have happened to anybody! Besides, I was sort of in a hurry."

"Fine." Frank signaled a lane change, back to the model driver. "Police station?"

Joe started another retort, then swallowed it. Frank wasn't angry, he knew that. Scared just wasn't an acceptable outlet. "Yeah."

Several minutes passed, Frank paying attention to the minimal effort of driving at one o'clock in the morning and Joe focused on getting warm before the younger Hardy couldn't stand it anymore.

"Frank?"

"Um-hmm?"

"Your shirt's missing."

#####

Two hours later the last of the police reports were signed off and the brothers were wandering to their rooms.

"I could sleep for a year." Joe stumbled into his room and plonked on the edge of his bed.

"As long as a year isn't any longer than five hours." Frank blinked through a yawn, then tugged at the too tight police shirt he'd borrowed. "Meet you here in the morning to go to the airport."

"I'm not going." Joe had stretched out already, toeing off the half size too big borrowed boots. "I'm gonna sleep."

"Tomorrow's, ah, today's the fourteenth."

Joe scowled at the philodendron and its tiny cupid in the corner. "Still all your fault. Fine, nine-thirty."

"Nice try, Joe. Eight-thirty. I'll bring the Danish."

####

"This is impossible!" Joe shoved the laptop as far as the seatback permitted, throwing his hands up.

"What's wrong?" Frank looked over, mildly curious but not alarmed.

"This gizmo is what's wrong." Joe sat back in his chair, glaring at the computer. "I want to finish this case report before we get home. In fact, I did finish it. Now, however, the computer can't find it."

Frank shook his head. "Did you save it?"

Joe gave him a dumbfounded look. "No, Frank, never would have thought of that. Of course, I saved it. But now it's gone. Poof. Abracadabra. Zippo…"

"I've got the idea. It auto saves, you know."

Joe got redder than before. "Yes, yes it does. In a file format that it can't read, mind you, but it saved it. Never to be seen again, but neatly filed away where I can find it, admire it, but not actually read it. Oh no, that's a step too far. For that, you get to do it over."

Frank started to stay something, then gave way before the tirade.

"Did you know the auto save puts everything in a file type that it can't open, Frank? Now that would be ok if say, you did it. Or me. But oh no, it does it to ITSELF! And this has been going on for years. Not like I'm the first one with this problem. It's not even the first time it's happened to me. I remember every infuriating detail about this same mess from four years ago except one. Just one! How to FIX it! Everything else, I recall just fine, but…"

"Joe…"

"not that one little, tiny, detail. So instead of fixing it, I'm sitting here reading pages upon pages of other people telling me they can't fix it either!"

"Joe…"

"Ninety-nine-point nine percent of people in the world are infuriated by this, and they have done nothing to replace the stupid file type, or make it something that will open in Word, and…"

Frank gave up and decided to go with it. "Ninety-nine point nine, huh? The other tenth of a percent knows how to open it?"

Joe stopped a second, perplexed Frank was listening. "No, they're Luddites! Better yet, they left the Luddites for being too modern! I tell you the entire thing is diabolical!"

"Diabolical, um-hmm." Frank kept his eyes firmly on Joe, but was aware of the other passengers become restless. Slowly he reached across for the laptop. "Why don't I just put this away? Like you said, you did it already. It'll turn up."

"It won't."

"It will."

"You don't believe that."

"No." Frank breathed a long sigh. "I do, however, know how to open it."

Joe let out an indignant huff. "Could have said so."

"I tried."

"Huh." Joe played the conversation over in his head before nodding. "Guess I was worked up."

"Um, yeah." Frank shook his head. "So, since your files don't need doing over, you going to finish filling me in?"

"About the case?"

"About the geopolitical significance of the changes in the Antarctic ice shelf."

"Since you asked, I think the icebergs breaking off will raise the sea level enough to change the coast line of major metropolitan areas and result in a four to five percent gross domestic product decline of impacted nations over the next decade, impacting the political architecture for a much more prolonged period. In addition, the…"

"Joe, stop. Just… stop." Frank grinned slightly at the off handed discourse escaping from his sibling. "I swear I think that how you made it through your exams – start talking so much that eventually the professors just surrendered."

Joe maintained his best offended academic stare. "But, of course."

Frank sighed. "Of course, he says. Yeah. In any event, what happened before the swan dive exhibition?"

"Nothing unexpected. Carter is the actual thief, with some help from Francesca, and Mary is his partner on the brokering end. She also appears to have some crime family connections, which is how she ended up working as a temp for Mr. Causman. Wanted to be sure his insurance schemes meshed nicely with the real thefts."

"Got names of those connections of hers, yet?"

"A few. I think this one's about done for."

"Good. None of that quite covers the "I think I'll dive three stories into the pool," though."

"I didn't want to be late. Besides, swimming is great exercise." Joe grinned at his brother, finally raising one blonde eyebrow when Frank didn't answer.

######

######

"Nessa?" Joe closed the front door and glanced around at the late afternoon sun in the living room, failing to spot his girlfriend. "Ness?"

He walked into the kitchen, spotting a chocolate cake cooling on the counter. "Ness? I'm home." _Huh. Nothing. "_ Vanessa?"

He prodded at the cake, noting it was still hot. Not cool enough to frost, at any rate. He glanced around again, then pinched off a little piece of the confection, popping it in his mouth.

A stifled giggle barely registered from Vanessa's bedroom and Joe had to stop himself from turning that way. _So, it's hide and seek, hmm…_

He stretched, then began to circle the kitchen, looking in cabinets, the pantry closet, even under the throw rug. "She must be here somewhere, don't ya think, little stuff? Maybe over here?"

He cut back into the living room, looking through the gray and blue sofa cushions before dropping to his knees to look under the couch. "Well, maybe the bathroom, then…"

He crept into the bathroom, yanking the shower curtain open with an exaggerated flourish. "AH HA…. Wait, that's a loofah. Well, darn, you'd think she'd be somewhere or other…"

Oomph. Long arms wrapped around him from behind, circling his shoulders. Before he could even turn around, Vanessa was on his back, trailing kisses along his throat. He kissed her as best he could, laughing.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Nessa." He managed to spin her around, pulling her tight against his chest before falling in to a much longer kiss, his fingers wrapping into the thick blonde tresses trailing down her spine.

Several minutes later, Joe came up for air, pausing to collect what was left of his brains. Vanessa was wearing blue jeans, a white linen blouse, and heavy hiking boots. "You're beautiful."

"Yeah, that's definitely what I was going for when I picked these boots." She cuddled against his chest again. "Actually, I was picking out a sweater, scarf and some gloves when a cake thief invaded my kitchen."

"I was, ah, sampling it. Wouldn't want you to waste time frosting it if it wasn't good."

"Um hmm. So, the one you ate last month before I got a chance to frost it wasn't good?"

"Well no, or ah, yes it was good, just too good to resist, so I, um, ate it." Joe offered her a shrug, then resumed the kisses that made it so difficult to think about anything else.

"Joe?" Vanessa playfully tried to bat him away. "Joe?"

"No one named Joe here. I'm the cake thief." Another kiss stole the next few sentences.

Vanessa gasped a little, seriously trying to push him away this time, although she was still smiling. "Your coat…"

"Yeah, probably should take that off." Joe started to do so, planting little kisses along her jaw.

Vanessa's giggles returned. "No silly, the pocket is moving."

Joe paused a moment, having honestly gotten lost in the moments with Ness. Then reality returned, and he grinned. "Oh, that. Let's see, what did I put in there… exploding firecrackers… no… hum, miniature gorilla… no…"

Whatever else he might have conjured up was interrupted by a dark nose pushing through the navy wool slit, followed by a floppy ear.

Vanessa was scooping up the puppy almost before she knew what it was. "Joe, he's gorgeous!" She held the tiny beast aloft for a minute, deciding he was a Labrador rather than the retriever she'd thought at first. He was the palest shade of wheat, with inquisitive eyes and an ice blue bow.

Joe laughed softly, tipping his head to stare at the pair of them. "I knew you wanted one. He's about 12 weeks old, should be some company when I'm not here."

She smiled wider, setting the pup on the floor before kneeling herself. "Hi there, boy. This is going to be your home. You like that, Tiger? You and I are going to have loads of fun. We'll walk, maybe run when you're bigger, play frisbee, go to the dog park..." She was romping on the floor with dog by now, Joe good naturedly clearing out of the way. "What do you think, of that Tiger, hmm? Oh Joe, what his name?"

"Apparently it's Tiger." Joe joined the pair on the floor, watching the puppy investigate everything. "You know, when I asked you to pick out snow boots for tonight, I though we might do a little walking."

Vanessa looked momentarily perplexed. "But shouldn't we stay with Tiger? First night and all that?"

"He can come." Joe withdrew a matching blue collar and leash from his pocket. "He rides in the coat pretty well if he's cold, and I've got a fold up basket and blanket in my backpack."

Vanessa stood. "Guess I better grab my sweater and a coat. Do I need to pack anything?" She gestured at the backpack she had just noticed by the door.

Joe shook his head. "Nah. I've got everything we might need and it's only about half an hour."

"Ok, then. Umm, Valentine's dinner?"

Joe shushed at her, placing a single finger on her lips. "Ness, I've got it, love." He pulled her in for another kiss, one that melted any coherent thoughts away. "Shall we?

#####

Vanessa stopped, slightly breathless in the dimming light as she crested the top of the hill. The cold air and the snow tended to have that effect. Joe was a few feet ahead, gesturing for her to wait there. She did, curious about the tarp strung between two of the large maples ahead and the glow behind it.

Joe tugged on the large sheet of fabric, secretly pleased when he heard the sharply indrawn breath behind him.

"Oh, wow…"

Nessa's eyes darted from the trees hung with fairy lights to the simple white table in the center with its elegant silver covered meal to the glowing fire in the stone ring. Everything was perfect. Simply perfect.

Joe moved over to the table, pulling out one chair. "Have dinner with me?"

Vanessa nodded silently, sliding into the chair and watching Joe light the candles. "How did you? All the way out here?"

"I had some help." He shrugged. "Frank and I strung the lights before I went to Georgia, I arranged for Dad to pick up Tiger, and Frank babysat the fire until we could get here. Did the cooking this afternoon myself, though."

"But I didn't see Frank on the way up…"

"Pretty sneaky when he wants to be. Besides, he has a fiancée waiting for him at home tonight." He lifted the domed cover off her plate, revealing the grilled salmon and salad below.

Vanessa laughed aloud. "Still the only thing you can cook, I see."

"Hey, you like it and if I learned anything else I might have to cook more often. I did cheat and pick up restaurant cheesecake when I went by the wine shop, though." He poured both of them a glass of white.

"I do like it, Joe, so we're good." She took a few bites before pausing. "This is amazing."

"I do grill a first-rate fish…" Joe's smile hinted at so much more than dinner.

A breathy chuckle followed. "No, everything. The starlight, the fire, the snow… you."

His voice dropped to a softer pitch. "You're what's amazing, Ness. The last few days, I wandered around in this gilded world and all I wanted to do was come home to you."

He paused a moment, fumbling in the pocket of his jacket. "I brought you something else. It's not what you might expect on a night like this, but I want you to wait for me, Ness."

He pulled out a small fabric wrapped bundle, closing it in the palm of her hand.

She held it for a moment, looking into those ever so blue eyes, before untying the twine around the worn blue calico. She blinked. "Joe, it's beautiful."

The sapphire twinkled in the candlelight.

He drew a tremulous breath. "Give me a year, Vanessa. They're a few things I need to do, but this time next year, we can take that stone and have it set… into whatever you want. I can't… can't ask yet, but I will. Consider it a promise."

Vanessa closed her eyes, feeling the start of tears composed mainly of joy with a trace of melancholy. "It's not really waiting, Joe. You're here, I'm here, and as long as we are together, everything is perfect. I love you."

"I love you, too, Vanessa. I love you, too."


End file.
